“My son is scouting the invaders,” Dayr reported. “After overrunning the frontier outposts, Ankhar spent a few days camped on the ruins. But now he’s on the march and seems to be heading for Solanthus. He travels in strength and is moving quickly.”
“He always was a fast marcher,” Jaymes replied, nodding. “That as much as anything was how he was able to outmaneuver the dukes.”
“Well, he won’t steal a march on us,” Dayr replied. “The Sword Army is fully mustered, gathered in and around Solanthus. Add them to your legion and my Crowns, and we should be able to field a force greater than the half-giant’s by a few thousand men.”
“Cavalry?”
“He’s got those same warg riders. Franz tells me they’re doing a pretty effective job of screening the main force. My son is on the trail, but the wolves keep him from getting close enough to get a real look at the horde.”
Jaymes nodded. “The old brute has learned a thing or two about making war, it seems. Well, we’ll have to assume he’s moving on Solanthus. But be prepared for any tricks. I would be surprised if he laid siege to the city again-it didn’t work out so well for him last time. But I can’t figure out what else he could be doing.”
“Yes. I’ve been wondering about his movements.” Dayr removed his helm and scratched his head. “We defeated him pretty certainly last time. Why would he attack Solanthus again?”
“Arrogance? Vengeance? No, I’ve been asking myself the same questions,” the emperor admitted. “He does not strike me as one who has a death wish.”
“No, certainly not. He’s a wily old brute and, above all, a survivor.”
Jaymes nodded in agreement. “We’d better be ready for a surprise. Remember the old maxim: don’t try to imagine what your enemy will do; instead, think about what he is capable of doing.”
“He could come around north of the city,” Dayr acknowledged. “General Rankin is deploying his cavalry up there. They wouldn’t be strong enough to stop him, but at least we’d get a warning if he shifted that way. And the Garnet Range stands in his path if Ankhar tries to go south of the city. I don’t think he would try to take his whole army through there.”
The emperor stared in that direction. The Garnet Mountains were not visible from that distance, but he knew those heights were just over the horizon. “Maybe. Maybe not,” he allowed. “Those mountains were once his home, after all. And he’s used them as a hiding place before.”
Suddenly he thought again of his old companion, the dwarf who had refused his direct orders to manufacture additional bombards-and who lived in a valley high up in those very mountains.
What was Dram doing?
“Where is that damned steel?” Dram demanded of no one in particular. He stood at the top of the watchtower his dwarves had just completed, a sturdy stone structure dominating the road that led into New Compound from the heart of the Garnet Range. The tower, of necessity, had been hastily constructed, but dwarven skill insured the stones were tightly meshed.
Dram had learned of Ankhar’s resurgence barely a fortnight earlier, when three bedraggled survivors of one of the border outposts had staggered into New Compound. Exhausted, battered, and half-starved, the three men had made their way through the mountains, barely avoiding the patrols of wolf-riding goblins that seemed to be everywhere. After reporting their news and getting some solid food and a hot bath, their leader-a grizzled sergeant who had seen fifty years-had voiced the opinion that a major war was under way.
The mountain dwarf had reacted with decisiveness. He had immediately sent to Kayolin an order for all the spring steel that could be scrounged up. His legion of dwarf workers, more than a thousand strong, had been pulled off mundane duties and assigned to quickly create defensive obstacles around the town. The watchtower was one such installation. Others included a fortified wall at each of the two passes leading into the valley, as well as a walled compound in the center of the town. The splendid bridge with its three arches had been mined with casks of powder, so it could be destroyed with only a few moments’ warning. Dram had supervised every aspect of the defenses-issuing orders, coordinating workers and tasks, and allocating personnel and materials.
Only one member of the community had proved resistant to the mountain dwarf’s instructions.
“You’ve got to leave now!” he had barked to Sally, barely an hour after absorbing the news of the invasion. “Take Mikey and get back across the plains to the Vingaard range. I’ll call you back here when the danger has passed.”
“I will do no such thing!” she retorted predictably.
“But-the baby-”
“The baby belongs with his mum and pap,” Sally shot back. Her voice softened and she touched Dram on the shoulder, a gesture that never failed to soothe his deepest agitation. But he shook her off.
“Look. You heard the man. That damned half-giant has thousands of ogres, and he’s just fifty or sixty miles away from here.”
“He’s on the other side of the mountains,” Sally replied calmly. “And I think Jaymes and his knights will have something to say about it if he tries to march around Solanthus.”
Jaymes! Dram felt a twinge of guilt. No doubt his old friend had received word about the dwarf’s refusal to build him additional bombards. Of course, that refusal had been overtaken by events-Dram would gladly build more cannons as fast as he could-but he found himself thinking he had betrayed his greatest friend.
Just as he couldn’t do anything about getting Sally to leave, there was nothing to do about that at the moment. Like every other dwarf in New Compound, she had thrown herself into the defensive preparations, supervising teams of leatherworkers who were busily turning out stiff, arrow-resistant tunics for the defenders of the town. She, like Dram, hoped battles would be fought elsewhere, that their peaceful valley was in no danger. But they would be prepared.
Dram stiffened abruptly, spotting a small caravan of mule-hauled carts coming into view down the mountain road. Rogard Smashfinger had come through! Each of the carts was loaded with the steel bands he needed to make the new bombards. He counted a dozen of the little wagons and guessed that there would be enough of the strong metal to make an equal number of the big guns. He glanced back to the lakeshore, where the ironwood planks were already assembled and a score of massive wagons had been prepared.
Now he had the last of his necessary ingredients. But would he have enough time to do the work?
There was no way to know.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Blayne Kerrigan moved quietly down the darkened street, counting the doorways on his right. Archer Billings had given him very specific instructions, warning him there was no sign, no outward indication, of the secret meeting hall. Finally he came to the thirteenth door, the one he had been told to find. He hesitated and for a fleeting moment felt like turning and running away.
A glance over his shoulder failed to spot anyone on the street, though the young noblemen had the distinct feeling that he was being followed and observed. He remembered the tragedy of his father, thought about the emperor whose power smothered everything in the city, and found the courage to press on.
The building was seedy and rundown, with boards nailed over the windows. No sound came from within. He tried the latch and found the door unlocked, just as the archer had told him it would be. Pushing the door open slowly, he expected the loud creak of rusty hinges and was surprised when the door glided easily, effortlessly inward. With a quick step, he was inside. The door shut behind him, and for a moment he was enveloped by darkness and silence.
But it was just for a moment; almost immediately he felt strong hands grasp both of his arms. He struggled instinctively, but felt the iron grip of his captors and knew that he was firmly held. He lashed out with a kick, only to bang his shin painfully against something; the blow produced a metallic clang.